King Suckerman
- Автор: Пелеканос Джордж
- Серия: D.C. Quartet #2
- Год: 1997
- Язык: английский
- Год: Little, Brown and Company
- ISBN: 978-0-316-69590-9
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «King Suckerman». Краткое содержание книги:
“Nick Stefanos.”
Stefanos put out his hand, gave Karras a soul shake. Karras had a look at the kid: on the thin side, wearing Levi’s cigarette style, one turn up at the cuff — the same way Karras wore his — a pair of Sears work boots, and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt that replicated the cover of the band’s debut. The kid smiled; like his grandfather, he had a friendly, wide-open face.
“Am I interrupting your lunch?”
“Nah, I just finished.”
“Anything good?”
“I eat the same thing every day. Mighty Mo, Orange Freeze, and onion rings. Eat it the same way, sittin’ on that very box.”
“Creature of habit.”
“I guess.” Stefanos shuffled his feet. “Got a bonus, though, walkin’ over to the Hot Shoppes today to pick up my food. Saw Isaac Hayes coming out of MAL. I guess he was doin’ some kind of interview over there.”
“How’d he look?”
“He was stylin’, man! Isaac had those chains on his chest, with no shirt underneath, like he does on the albums.”
“That’s somethin’.”
“Yeah.”
Stefanos pulled a flat pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, shook out a bent smoke. He flipped open a book of matches, gave himself a light. Squinting through his exhale, he eyed Karras in a curious way.
Karras said, “I guess you’re wondering—”
“You say you know Papou?”
“Well, not really. My father worked at Nick’s grill in the forties.”
“I don’t remember him mentioning your dad to me.”
“My father’s been dead a long time.”
“Sorry, man.” Stefanos thumb-flicked ash off his smoke. “You look familiar, though. You go to Saint Sophia?”
“Not so much.”
“Me either,” said Stefanos. “Not so much anymore.”
Karras said, “You ever play pickup ball?”
“At Candy Cane City sometimes. Me and my friend Billy get into some decent games every so often.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe you’ve seen me there.”
“Could be it, yeah.”
“So, anyway... I was talkin’ to your grandfather. He asked me to stop by, introduce myself, say hello.”
Stefanos blew smoke down at his work boots. “He’s worried about me, right?”
“A little, I guess.”
“That’s what this is about. He’s finally figured out that I like to get high.”
“That’s partly it, yeah. I’m not gonna lie to you.”
“Well, what am I supposed to say? Papou and me, we got, like, fifty-some years between us. I love him, man, but how do I explain to a guy from his generation that everybody gets high? It’s not like I’m sittin’ around in somebody’s basement all day, listening to Dark Side of the Moon, or somethin’ like that. I work, I play ball, I chase after girls — gettin’ high is just something I do when I’m doin’ something else. I mean, you know, man! I can tell from lookin’ at you that you get high yourself.”
Yeah, and I deal it, too. And here I am, trying to give you advice.
“It’s not just the reefer thing,” said Karras.
“What, then?”
“He was talkin’ about... You’re goin’ on some trip, right?”
“Oh, that.”
“You leaving after the Fourth?”
Stefanos smiled with excitement. “The next morning. Billy’s picking me up at Papou’s apartment on Irving Street. We’re towing a ski boat down to Florida for this dude, and then we’re just gonna drive around. See what we can see.”
“Guess you’ll be getting ready for it all weekend.”
“Got a lot goin’ on this weekend. Going down to the Town tonight to see that new one, King Suckerman.”
“One about the pimp?”
“Yeah. And then Sunday night’s the party. I wouldn’t miss the action down on the Mall for anything. In fact, we put off the trip till Monday just to stick around for the Fourth.”
“How long you plan on being gone?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of the adventure! Why, you think there’s something wrong with that, too?”
Karras tried to think of something responsible to say. The truth was, he didn’t believe there was anything wrong with the kid’s plan. He had gone out of town with no itinerary whatsoever more than a few times himself. A road trip, man, it could really do good things for your head. And Karras was tired of being a hypocrite. He had come out here, talked to the boy just as he had promised the old man. All right, he had done that. Now he just wanted to be finished with it and get away.
“No,” said Karras. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Nick. Have a good time, man. Enjoy yourself.”
Stefanos crushed his cigarette under his boot. “Thanks.”
Karras heard the sound of footsteps rapidly descending the wooden stairs. “Nick! Hey, Greek!”
It was the one named McGinnes, coming down the aisle in their direction, an electric charge in his goose-step walk. On the way, he retrieved a sixteen-ounce can of Colt from behind a carton, tore the ring off its top. He took a long pull from the can as he walked toward them.
“The bad dude’s brew,” said McGinnes, wiggling his eyebrows at Karras.
“Dimitri Karras,” said Karras.
“Johnny McGinnes,” said McGinnes. “What it is?”
They shook hands. McGinnes’s eyes were electric, glazed and pink. His Nutty Nathan’s tie was thick as a clown’s, knotted crookedly and match-burnt in several places.
“You need somethin’, Johnny?”
“Just sold a Spectracon receiver to some yom. Gonna buy it on ‘credik.’ I can get that one myself. But you might want to bring up a KV-1910 when you get a chance. I sold the Sony to this Indian over the phone: He’s gonna pick it up in a few.”
“Want me to write his name on the box?”
“Okay. Write Singh on it. Or Patel. No, put Singh and Patel on there. That ought to shake him up. And bring up one of those Generally Defective ten-inchers while you’re at it.”
“The Portocolors?”
“Yeah. Void’s up there right now, writing up another one of those pieces of plunder.” McGinnes smiled. “But first, how about you and me get our heads up?”
McGinnes put the Colt can up on a carton. He took a film canister and a small brass pipe from his pocket and shook some pot into the bowl. He handed the pipe to Stefanos, put fire to the herb with a disposable lighter. Nick Stefanos coughed out the hit.
“Wanna get high?” said McGinnes to Karras.
“No, thanks,” said Karras. “I’m good.”
McGinnes gave the pipe another light, hit it hard, kept the smoke down in his lungs. He tapped the ashes out on his palm, slipped the pipe and the film canister back in his pocket.
“C’mere, Greek,” said McGinnes, producing a Magic Marker from his jacket.
“What are you gonna do?”
“Just come here.”
Karras watched McGinnes carefully draw a red dot in the center of the kid’s forehead. For the Indian customer’s benefit, thought Karras. That ought to shake him up.
“I gotta jet,” said Karras.
“Good to meet you, man,” said Stefanos. “Maybe I’ll see you up at the courts sometime.”
“Yeah,” said Karras. “Maybe you will.”
“Hold still, Jim,” said McGinnes. “Gonna have us a red dot sale.”
Karras backed away, walked the length of the stockroom, listening to the fade of McGinnes’s giggle as he hit the stairs. The old man had been right: Young Nick worked with a bunch of wise guys. Well, at least the kid was having fun.
Out on the showroom floor, Karras could hear another Steely Dan cut coming from the Sound Explosion. He passed Phil Omajian, the smiling store manager, his eyes closed, his feet still up on his desk. McGinnes had apparently caught Omajian sleeping; a bright red dot had been drawn in the center of his forehead, too.